


San Diego, Saint Petersburg, Seville

by CJ (cjmarlowe)



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Gen, a colourful past, family trumps all, women in charge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-15
Updated: 2009-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/CJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hetty makes three telephone calls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	San Diego, Saint Petersburg, Seville

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2009 femgenficathon.

**a.m.**

Hetty preferred to make arrangements via email whenever possible. The written word was more precise and less open to interpretation, and when she wanted, for instance, three pairs of distressed, boot cut True Religion jeans with varying inseam and waist measurements, that was exactly what she wanted and she didn't need to be engaged in a lot of time-wasting dialogue in order to get them.

There was a time for the nuances of conversation, and there was a time for accuracy and efficiency. Hetty simply did not have the patience when such straightforward needs as _wardrobe_ seemed to require some kind of personal touch.

She preferred to keep her personal touch for her team, and those people who had _earned_ a little finessing.

"I would like to speak to your manager," she said shortly, quite aware she was already speaking with a purchasing assistant who wasn't used to having her authority challenged.

"He's out of the office right now," she said smoothly, "but I'm sure I can assist you with your needs."

"If you were able to assist me with my needs, you would already have done so instead of interrupting me to ask questions."

"I just wanted to make sure we've received your request correctly," she persisted. "You see, what you've sent are evidently _male_ measurements for the Armani gown--"

"Do you think I did not _read_ the email before I sent it?" said Hetty. "Do you think I simply dashed something like that off thoughtlessly when it comes to _Armani_? You'll notice I did add a notation for an adjustment to the bust to accommodate falsies."

"Oh," she said after a moment, and Hetty really did wish people would read her _entire_ communications before reaching for their phones. It was not so unusual a request, in their line of work.

"At this rate I could have made the trip myself," she said in plain exasperation. Had the garment in question been in the same city, she would have. "Are we perfectly clear now?"

"Of course," she said. "You'll have it by the end of business today."

"If I don't," said Hetty, "there will be hell to pay." And let no one, least of all a purchasing assistant, doubt that she meant every word of it.

Were there only more hours in the day, Hetty would do it all herself. For her team, only the best - by Hetty's own idiosyncratic definition of best - would do.

 

 **noon**

It would be late at night for Mikhail, but that, in Hetty's experience, was the best time to reach him at his office. Not that she couldn't have found another way, no matter what the time of day or night.

"Tell him it's Henrietta," she said to the assistant who answered, and offered no further information, no matter how long the gentleman on the other end of the line waited for her to supply it. When it finally became clear to him that she wasn't planning to, he cleared his throat and asked her to wait a moment.

She knew, assuming he did his job and relayed her message, that it would take no longer than that. And she was not wrong.

"Is this a secure line?"

"Of course it's a secure line, Mishka," she said.

"One cannot be too careful," he said. "There are as many ears out there as there always were."

"Do you remember Buenos Aires, Mishka?" she said, cutting to the chase. "Nineteen seventy-nine."

"You're calling in a favor," he inferred, and not incorrectly. "A favor you know I cannot refuse."

"A Ukrainian national named Ivan Petrovych Shevchenko," she said. "We need everything you've got on him."

"Now, Hetty, you know I can't--"

"I know you can," she said. "And what's more, I know you want to."

"I could be dismissed. Worse."

"I can assure you it won't be used in any way that would compromise your position." All Hetty wanted to do, as always, was keep her team safe and fully informed. "Lives may be at stake. I know your government wants him brought to justice as much as ours does."

Given the favor she was owed, the outcome of this conversation was never in doubt, only how long it was going to take to reach the inevitable conclusion.

"You have him in your sights?"

"You know I can't answer that," she said, which in context was as good as a yes. "The information, Mishka."

There was another long silence, not a decision now but a mulling of logistics. Hetty knew, from long experience, the different natures of silences.

"Give me two hours," he said finally. "I'll call you with a location and the name of my agent."

"That will do very nicely," she said. "Say hello to Katya and the children for me."

"Of course," he said, and terminated the call without good-byes.

She leaned back in her chair and took a moment to recall those heady days in the late seventies, when the world had been a very different place, before getting up to relay the information to Sam.

 

 **p.m.**

There was a process to getting ready to leave the office at night, and while Hetty wasn't such a stickler for detail that she followed it to the minute - the job required a certain amount of flexibility, after all - there was a _process_ , and as such it needed to be followed.

First, put her papers in order and ensure there were no loose ends. Next, secure the computer and log off the network. Only after that did she give herself the opportunity to take care of any personal business, including telephone calls, and then only if the team was safely off duty and out of the building (with the possible exception of Callen, but that man had always been a law unto himself).

Given it was the wee hours of the morning in Spain, she half expected to reach Simon's voicemail (not because he was in bed, not Simon who had always considered more than five hours of sleep to be a waste of good drinking and dancing time, but because he was likely out for the evening), but to her surprise he picked up on the second ring.

"Hetty!" he said. "What's the occasion?"

"Oh, I was just thinking about you today," she said, reaching up to switch off the light as she left. "Remembering that summer we spent in the south of France as children. I thought I would give you a call to see how your latest business trip is working out."

"I've already sent two crates of merchandise on ahead of me," he said. "I just got off the phone with John, in fact. He had a few choice words for me when I told him where and when to collect them."

"Not pleased to be left stateside this time, I'd imagine," she said, "but I suppose someone's got to do it."

"Well, if he hadn't let his passport lapse, that someone could have been the shop assistant," said Simon, "but apparently three reminders weren't enough for him, and it couldn't be put off. But enough about my drama, how are you?"

"Oh, you know how it is," she said as she did a last check of the facilities on her way out the door, a persistent habit, but a good one. "Work has been busy, but then when isn't it? Crime will always be good business, no matter what the state of the economy."

"No, how are you _doing_?" he said. "How _are_ you, Hetty?"

Of course Simon would want to know that, it was just who he _was_. She could hedge all she wanted, but if there was one person who could outwait her, it was her brother.

"I'm good," she said, giving in as she always eventually did. "I'm good, Simon."

She had her job, and she had her people, and if it was as much the latter as the former that made her good, well, the business of her heart had always been her own.


End file.
